


The Biscuit One

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Freudian Slips [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Tea, biscuits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: I’ve been casting around for a while for a new series, and I really enjoyed doing Freudian Slip for the Valentine Fic Fest. So I thought I might make them into a series. The premise is, one or other of Strike and Robin says or does something to give away their feelings/closeness, and either they or the other one doesn’t notice it. Or maybe neither of them notices it and a friend or colleague does. I’ve gone with the series title Freudian Slips, though I may rename it if they don’t all fit.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Freudian Slips [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645858
Comments: 38
Kudos: 75





	The Biscuit One

Strike pushed open the main door to the office and heaved a sigh of relief.

“It’s bloody awful out there,” he muttered. “Raining and windy. Why do the idiots of London all get their umbrellas out when it’s like that? They’re worse than useless.”

Robin gave him a sympathetic smile from her spot, warm and dry, behind her desk. It had been her turn to man the office and type reports today. “Kettle’s hot.”

Strike hung up his coat and moved across to the kitchenette. “Want one?”

Robin shook her head, waving at the mug on her desk. “Just made one, thanks. Sorry, I didn’t know you were due back.”

“Nah, I’m early.” Strike flicked the kettle back on and grabbed a mug and a tea bag. He ran his hand through his unruly hair, dislodging a small deluge of droplets that fell into the sink, and vaguely wondered if he should get a hat. He imagined trying to ram a hat onto his unruly curls, and the crazy mess that would result when he took it off again. Nope.

“So, case solved?” Robin asked hopefully, sipping her tea.

“Yeah, I think so.” The kettle was boiling again already, and Strike swiftly assembled his own brew. “I’ll show you the photos I’ve got, see what you think. Not sure it’s strictly cast-iron evidence, but possibly enough for the wife to confront him with, she might consider it job done.”

He carried his mug across to Robin’s desk and pulled up the spare chair. “Biscuits,” he muttered, turning back to the kitchenette.

“Not for me, thanks,” Robin replied. She’d resisted all morning and was feeling very virtuous. “Not good for my figure.” The scales were slowly creeping up over the months, helped along by biscuits and posh coffees and white wine.

Strike snorted. “Nothing wrong with your figure,” he replied, plonking the biscuit tin firmly on Robin’s desk between their mugs. “Now, where did I put the camera?”

He moved back to the coat stand to rummage in his jacket pocket, vaguely wondering why Robin’s cheeks had gone pink. It wasn’t that hot in the office.

“Ah, here it is.” He moved back to his partner’s desk and sank onto the chair with a sigh of relief as he took the weight off his aching knee. He leaned over the camera, switching it on and starting to flick through the recent photos.

“Memory card is nearly full, really must download it,” he muttered. “Here we are.” He leaned across to show Robin the pictures he’d taken.

She leaned in, ignoring the flutter of her heart and hoping her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. _Nothing wrong with her figure._ Contented warmth curled through her. Matthew had always praised her for losing weight. It was high time she learned to stop thinking like him.

She perused the photos as Strike scrolled through them for her. “I agree,” she said. “Not cast-iron proof, but enough. I’ll type up some notes?” She opened the biscuit tin.

“Great, thanks,” Strike replied, reaching for a biscuit too, glad to see that Robin had selected one. He grabbed a Hobnob and dunked it in his tea, then stuffed the whole thing in his mouth with a small sound of satisfaction. There wasn’t much that was more rewarding than a hot cup of tea and a nice biscuit to celebrate a job well done. Not that could be done during office hours, anyway. He vaguely wondered if this constituted enough of a success to suggest the pub later.

Robin peered into her mug and, finding it empty, reached across and dunked her digestive in Strike’s tea. She nibbled away the soggy part of the biscuit, and sighed a little with contentment. Another case brought to fruition, and there were clients on the waiting list ready to be added to the books once they had available manpower. Things were going well.

And there was nothing wrong with her figure. She took another biscuit.

**Author's Note:**

> So this one has two - him giving away that he likes her figure, which she noticed and he didn’t, and her feeling close enough to dunk her biscuit in his tea, which neither of them noticed but would have made Ilsa squee.
> 
> Any requests? Either here or over on Tumblr @lulacat3 where you can ask anonymously too if you so wish.


End file.
